


but i’ll always be invaded by you

by sungyeowl



Series: lost in today and the past; lost in the future we had [2]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt, i put it into a series but it's a string of different one-shots that are supposed to be separate!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungyeowl/pseuds/sungyeowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Minho can only hope that they didn’t decide to hire a stripper this year when he unlocks the door and steps inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but i’ll always be invaded by you

**Author's Note:**

> another [tumblr prompt](http://annatries.tumblr.com/post/110819938934/1-6-minewt-please-thank-you)!  
> 1\. chocolate and 6. tongue-tied

Miho expects pretty much anything to happen when he comes back home from his late-evening lecture. He’s been spending his birthday with Newt – and Thomas – for the past eleven or so years, and it’ll be his third birthday since Newt and he moved in together; so he’s ready for pretty much everything, and literally so – from surprise parties with dozen of their friends flooding their apartment, through quiet game-nights with both Newt and Thomas, to people jumping out of fake cakes and outings to go clubbing or visiting funfairs. Name it and he’s been there, done that, probably.

Newt and Thomas are well aware of the fact that Minho doesn’t like surprises and opening his presents in front of other people – he doesn’t really care about birthdays in general, either – so they’ve made it their life goal to celebrate his birthday every year. Always. There’s no exceptions.

Minho can only hope they didn’t decide to hire a stripper this year when he unlocks the door and steps inside. He looks around before he even takes his shoes off – it’s not dark and it’s pretty quiet, so no surprise parties this year, apparently, no guests in sight (or in hiding). He can also hear a soft hum of the tv – so maybe they won’t be going out?

“I’m home,” Minho calls out, trying to level his voice flat as he throws his bag under the wall and makes his wy through the short corridor towards their living room.

Which is empty, as it turns out – devoid of either Newt or Thomas, with the tv on and notihng else. No people, no food.

“Guys?” he calls out again, a bit confused, because it’s definitely what he’s used to. Minho’s been on campus all day – he didn’t see Thomas at all and Newt was still asleep when he was leaving in the morning, so he didn’t even get a glimpse at what they might have possibly planned. If they planned anything. Which they most definitely did, because that’s just how it goes.

“In here,” comes – Newt’s only – reply from the kitchen, where Minho goes quickly.

And the sight that greets him?

Well, okay, so maybe Minho wasn’t exactly ready for  _that_.

The kitchen is a mess – dirty dishes are scattered everywhere, everything – and Minho means it – is dusted with flour and the table is suspiciously greasy with weird stains.

Minho gapes in horror, tongue-tied, until his eyes travel to Newt who looks pleased with himself, sporting Minho’s frilly pink apron; his hair is matted with flour, too, and there’s a dark smudge of something on his left cheek.

“What’s going on?” eventually Minho manages to ask weakly, because his head is empty – he has no freaking idea what could possibly be going on.

“This,” Newt pretty much exclaims happily and moves aside, revealing… something, which presumably was supposed to be a chocolate cake on a plastic epergne. Minho stares at the toppling-to-one-side cake, then at Newt, then back at the thing.

“I tried my best,” Newt informs, drawing Minho’s attention back to himself. He’s smiling but there’s a worried wrinkle visible between his eyebrows – and he looks so nervous and so dumb, but also so, so dorky that Minho cannot any longer suppress a board grin that threatens to appear on his face. Newt doesn’t cook – or bake, in that matter. He hates it and he’s trash at it and they both know it, so Minho’s the one to do all the cooking. And, okay, the cake isn’t perfect and the kitchen look as if a (chocolate) bomb exploded in it – but it’s the best because Newt made it (and because chocolate is Minho’s favourite flavour – of everything). “Happy birthday, shuckface.”

Minho all but trots over and dips his hand in the cake, tearing  a chunk out of it and stuffing it into his mouth. Quite surprisingly, it’s delicious – the chocolate melts on his tongue, the sweetness a truly blissful experience.

“Thank you,” Minho mumbles, smiling, then brings his chocolate-covered hand and places it on Newt’s clean cheek. Newt, for once, doesn’t complain and just laughs, not minding the chocolate smeared over his face as he pulls Minho in for a sweet birthday kiss, already trying to open the top button of his boyfriend’s shirt.


End file.
